A Home for Helena (The Lady P Chronicles Book 2) (18 page)

“That is very kind of her, but you know that it is the planting season and I can’t possibly leave Hill and Farris to manage on their own.”

She pulled away and looked at him imploringly. “But James… it’s a wonderful opportunity! I never had a Season because Papa’s living would not support it. Aunt says I am still young and pretty enough to be all the rage! And besides, someday Annabelle will have to be brought out into society, and surely it will stand in her favor if her mother has connections there.”

James pursed his lips. “Our daughter is barely three, Anne. It will not matter to her if our London debut must be postponed for a few more years, when our income can stand it.”

Her face turned stony. “You’ve said that for
years,
James! You never told me I’d be nothing but a farmer’s wife when I married you! Why, Mama told me that you would surely be taken up by the Melbournes, with all their pots of money and influence!”

A moment of self-loathing came upon him. Had he indeed misled her? If so, it hadn’t been intentional. He’d never been terribly interested in society, especially after his father had run the estate nearly to ruin. He was perfectly content with his role as gentleman farmer, and it never occurred to him then that the lovely, impoverished vicar’s daughter he’d married might have loftier ambitions.

“Anne, you know that I am only distantly related to the Melbournes. I could hardly expect them to subsidize my family's entrée into society!”

She pouted. “How do you know? You never bothered to ask!” Then she perked up. “It doesn’t matter now. Aunt Esther is as rich as Croesus and she’s offered to outfit me—and Annabelle too—and both she and Aunt Mariah will sponsor me at Court.”

James felt a tightness in his chest. “No.”

She pursed her lips. “No? Is that all you can say? You won’t even discuss it? Just—no?”

James hung his coat on the rack and moved toward his study.

“Out of the question,” he tossed back. “I won’t be indebted to your family, Anne. We’ve discussed this before. Once I’ve managed to build the estate back up to profitability, I promise we’ll make our appearance in London. But until then—"

“You promise!” she shrieked. “Your promises are worthless!”

He ducked into his study before the vase could shatter on his head, but he could feel a headache coming on anyway. He wanted to grab her and hold her against his chest until the anger began to fade, but he’d been through these altercations before, and this one wouldn’t be so easily resolved. Normally, Mrs. Fenwick would calm her down with some willow tea and some of Cook’s lemon tarts, but the housekeeper was nowhere in sight, and suddenly he recalled that it was her half-day, and with the nursemaid off tending a sick mother, Anne had been left alone with the child.

Where was Annabelle?

“I’m going to London,” Anne shouted. “You can’t stop me!”

As she ran to the door, James heard Annabelle wailing, and looked up to see the three-year-old standing precariously at the top of the stairs. Apparently, Anne had left her alone upstairs, and the angry voices from below had drawn her to the stairs.

Sweating profusely, he hesitated only a moment before racing up the stairs two at a time to snatch up his daughter before she could tumble down them. With Annabelle bawling in his arms, he leapt down the staircase and rushed out the door after Anne. In an impassioned mood, she was unstable and a danger to herself and others. Farris, his stable hand who also worked in the fields, had turned from his walk home for the night and was running toward Anne, who had already managed to mount her horse—saddle-less and astride—and was urging it forward.

James’s heart nearly exploded in his chest. He put Annabelle down, telling her to stay put, and he ran after his wife as quickly as he could. The horse was already showing signs of panic. Why had he agreed to buy Anne such a high-strung horse? Because she’d begged and nagged and he’d just wanted it all to stop. But now it all seemed a terrible mistake.

But before he could get there, the horse had bolted, and Anne was sprawled on the gravel drive, cradled in the skirts of her ivory-colored dress.

He rushed to her side and knelt down, clasping her wrist to feel a pulse. Nothing. A trail of blood made a grim path toward his knee, and he saw that her head had hit a large stone. He tore off his shirt and tied it around the wound to stem the blood flow, but her eyes stared out at him, sightless, and he looked up at Farris in shock and grief.

“She’s gone, Mr. Walker. I’m so sorry.”

And James knew a grief so intense that he might have done something rash himself—except that Annabelle’s shrieking brought him back to reality, and he rose to collect his daughter and take her inside.

A
t that point
, James awoke, and berated himself as he always did. Would it have been such a lowering thing to have allowed her aunts to sponsor her in London? Had he not married her out of the schoolroom, he was certain her ambitious mother would have finagled her well-heeled sisters-in-law into sponsoring her. Of course, in that case, as a diamond-of-the-first-water, she would have married a wealthy, titled man who could have given her the life she yearned for. She certainly would not have looked twice at
him,
and Annabelle would never have existed.

He closed his eyes and mentally begged forgiveness for allowing his pride and distaste for society to get in the way of his wife’s happiness. Not only had he been the cause of her death, he’d also deprived his daughter of her mother, and her parents of their only daughter. They came once a year to visit Annabelle, and although neither had put their feelings into words, he could feel their disapproval, especially from Mrs. Gibson, who had apparently believed marriage to him would be a social triumph for her daughter. One that she could live vicariously herself, as she herself had undoubtedly expected more when she’d married the third son of an earl.

He’d been attracted to Anne the moment he’d seen her sitting next to her mother in her father’s church. Her face lit up when she smiled, and suddenly he knew he wanted her for his own. He’d been so blinded by her emerald eyes and blonde curls that he hadn’t noticed that her conversation tended to focus on London and his connection to the prominent Melbourne family. He
thought
he had explained to her the bare facts of his situation, that he expected it would take time for Melbourne Manor to flourish; he knew he had done so with her father while the marriage settlements were being drawn up. But Reverend Gibson, he’d discovered later, tended to be led about by his wife, and somehow, they had all expected marriage to him to be a step up for their daughter.

He had no doubt that she’d loved him in return, but the truth was that neither had really
understood
the other. In a society where arranged marriages and chaperoned courtships were the norm, he imagined that situation was a frequent occurrence. After the first few idyllic days, both parties found themselves confronted with character traits and habits of the other, and a bit of the initial charm began to wear off. He’d expected Anne to eventually settle down into country life, especially after the entrance of a daughter into their lives. And she had, for awhile. But even then, he realized now, she’d focused on her copies of
La Belle Assemblée
and the gossip columns of the London rags, complained about the incompetence of the modiste in Maidstone, and begged for an increase in her allowance so that she could have fashionable gowns made up in London.

He, fool that he was, had assumed that all women were like this, and all that was required for him to do was ignore it or change the subject. The truth was, he’d never really
listened
to her. Nor had he realized that he needed to. His own father certainly had not. Of course, his father was a wastrel and a gambler who had ignored his wife’s pleadings to stay out of the gaming hells, and he’d come to a bad end on the dueling field, leaving his wife and son with a neglected estate and a scandal to live down. His mother had wasted away soon after, and James, at nineteen, was left alone to face a crumbling estate and few financial resources.

Determined to avoid his father’s mistakes, he’d studied all the books on agriculture he could find, and set about bringing Melbourne Manor back to prosperity. By the time he was twenty-five, his father’s last debts had been paid and the estate was earning enough to support a wife and family. It hadn’t occurred to him that the wife he chose—a vicar’s daughter—might expect much more.

Because he’d never really treated her as an equal, he realized. They’d never really
talked
about their hopes and dreams and expectations before the marriage, and afterwards, well, he’d shrugged off her complaints because he couldn’t do anything about them. He’d tried to mollify her with vague promises for the future and dismissed her temper tantrums as a vexatious feminine foible that came as part and parcel of the marriage state.

Dear Anne, if I could do it over again, I’d have done things differently. I hope you know I never meant it to end that way. You should have been the toast of London, and I should have been a proud and supportive husband. Wherever you are, I hope you know that, and can forgive me for failing you.

A sudden gust of wind fluttered the curtains in his bedchamber, and the aroma of honeysuckle drifted to his nostrils. Honeysuckle, Anne’s favorite scent.

Of course, it could have come from the flower seller’s booth across the street from Grillon’s, but he chose to believe it was Anne, letting him know that he was forgiven.

I
mpatient to sit
down and have a serious tête-à-tête with Helena, James rode his horse hard, stopping only occasionally at posting houses to refresh his horse with food and water. So eager was he that he was tempted to head directly to Newsome Grange without stopping first at his own home, but he reluctantly abandoned that notion after evaluating the state of his person. Other than a few drops of rain here and there, the weather had been fairly cooperative. There was always dust to contend with, however, and the closer he came to Langley Heath, the more aware he became of the gritty sensation of dirt under his clothing against his skin. He couldn’t
really
court a young lady in such a state, could he?

And that
was
his intention. Even though he was aware of her antipathy toward the institution of marriage. He swallowed hard. She liked kissing him; he was a fool to have held that against her at the Wykehams' ball. And then there were her secrets. He would have to earn her trust before she would reveal them. Marriage was a lifetime commitment, at least for him. And he could not risk making such a commitment without first having a serious tête-à-tête.

It was nearly time for dinner when he arrived at home and handed off his horse to Farris, who had finished in the fields and was eager to discuss the harvest with him.

“Sorry, Farris, old man. I haven’t time at the moment. When you finish there”—he indicated the horse—“hitch up the coach for me, if you don’t mind. I’ve an important assignation this evening.”

“Assignation? As in with
ladies?”
A slow smile built on the older man’s wrinkled face.

James grinned. “Mind your own business, you prying old man,” he tossed back as he hastened to the house.

Mrs. Fenwick met him at the door.

“Mr. Walker! We didn’t expect you! That is, Cook, Philbin and I were about to sit down for dinner, and we hadn’t planned—“

James strode past her toward the stairway. “No need to interrupt your meal. I won’t be dining here tonight.” Halfway up the stairs, he paused and turned to face her. “On the other hand, I
will
need Philbin’s services. Have him set up a bath immediately—I am in a shocking state after my journey—and I shall need him to lay out my best rig.”

“Yes, sir.” She turned and started to head for the kitchen, then hesitated and studied him curiously.

“If I may ask, sir, have you an engagement this evening?”

He bit his lip. "Er-no. Not really. I shall be calling at Newsome Grange."

"Newsome Grange? I hadn't heard that Sir Henry and Lady Sarah were returned from London." She nodded. "But you will wish to see Miss Annabelle, of course."

"Certainly."

"In that case, you'd best hurry. It will be time for dinner shortly, and I hear that new governess is a stickler for keeping schedules."

He took a double take. Just in time to see Mrs. Fenwick's wink.

He grinned at her. Was his intention
so
obvious then?

"Indeed. I shall be off directly, Eliza."

Then he dashed upstairs, taking two at a time.

While he soaked in the tub, he tried to tamp down his spirits. As eager as he was to see her again and discover whether or not she would consent to be courted, many impediments to a union between them remained to be resolved, not the least of which was Helena's rather skewed view of marriage.

In spite of everything, however, his spirits rose as he mounted Brutus and made his way toward Newsome Grange, his mother's betrothal ring in his pocket. Helena. He would see Helena.

“
M
iss Annabelle makes
a pretty picture in her new frock, does she not? I believe she will turn out to be as stunning as her mother was!”

Startled, Helena turned to see an unknown woman standing in the open doorway, watching as Mrs. Edwards’s assistant made last-minute alterations to Annabelle’s new gown.

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.” The woman’s behavior struck her as encroaching, but the door
had
been left open.

A flush crept across the woman’s face. She was fortyish, plump, and quite well-dressed.

Mrs. Edwards herself hurried over and bobbed before the new arrival. “Miss Lloyd, this is Mrs. Ish, the mayor’s wife. Mrs. Ish, Miss Lloyd is governess at Newsome Manor.”

“Temporary governess,” Helena corrected. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Ish.”

“And Miss Annabelle? Is
her
governess about?” Mrs. Ish nodded pointedly at the six-year-old on the stool.

Helena explained that Annabelle was visiting the Newsomes until her father could make other arrangements.

“Ah yes, the handsome,
eligible
Mr. Walker. And what sort of arrangements is he looking to make? Another wife, perhaps? Or another governess?”

Helena’s face tightened. Gossip was one thing, but the scorn in Mrs. Ish’s face when she noted Helena’s un-governess-like appearance went beyond the pale.

“I really can’t say.”

“Miss Lloyd is certainly not dressed in the manner of any other governess I've seen.” Mrs. Ish addressed the modiste.

I’m still here.

Mrs. Ish did not wait for a response from the modiste. “I do believe she has rather the same look as Anne Walker, do you not agree, Mrs. Edwards? Could she be a relative do you think?”

She continued to ignore Helena, but by now, Helena was eager to hear more about her so-called resemblance to Anne Walker.

“Miss Lloyd is from America, Mrs. Ish.”

“Ah! Husband-hunting, no doubt.” She snorted. “James Walker is a fine figure of a man and quite eligible. No money now, of course, but he’ll be in the clover soon, I’ve no doubt.” She smirked at Helena. “I should think one of our local young ladies would suit him best though. Americans tend to be so
gauche,
you know.”

Helena’s teeth clenched and she was
so
tempted to say what she thought, but Mrs. Edwards chose that moment to call for a shop assistant to show Mrs. Ish some of the new ribbons that had arrived that morning.

Taking Helena aside, she whispered, “Pay no mind to what she says, Miss Lloyd. She’s been throwing her own daughter in Mr. Walker’s path since the day his wife died. And you do have the look of the late Mrs. Walker, although no doubt that’s merely coincidence.”

“No doubt.” But was it? Helena was dying to know more. When would James be back? Would he be willing to tell her about his first wife and their marriage? What did he know about the missing Gibson daughter? And how could she ask about all this without revealing the truth about herself?

How she wished she could discuss this with someone! She had not received a response from Lady P as yet, and the Newsomes weren’t due back from London for another couple of days. She didn’t know anyone else who knew about the existence of time travel, nor did she want to do anything to cause a scandal that would reflect back on the people who had been kind to her.

She looked up at the ceiling and let out a heavy sigh. How much longer would she have to wait to find out the truth? And if, as she suspected, she turned out to be the lost Gibson child, how would her parents take the truth about her reappearance? Would they welcome a grown-up daughter who had been reared in the twenty-first century? And how in God’s green earth had she ended up in the twenty-first century anyway?

And James. What would
he
think about all this?

Helena felt suddenly drained of energy.

“Miss Lloyd? Are you all right?”

It was Annabelle, dressed in her day clothes again, pulling at a strand of hair as she often did when worried about something.

Helena straightened up and swallowed. “I’m fine, Annabelle. Just a little tired, I think. Is your frock ready?”

Annabelle beamed. “Mrs. Edwards’s assistant is wrapping it right now. I can’t wait to take it home and show it off to Theo and Emily. Do you think it becomes me, Miss Lloyd?”

Helena gave the girl an enthusiastic hug. “You know it does, Annabelle! You look beautiful in it.”

Annabelle’s eyes danced. “I know. I look awesome, do I not? Do you think Papa will think so too? I hope he returns home soon from London so I can show it to him.”

The lively six-year-old bubbled over with enthusiasm all the way back to Newsome Grange. She was a darling child, Helena reflected, who truly adored her father. A sentiment he clearly reciprocated, but Helena sensed that something had help him back from her until very recently. What was it? There was so much Helena didn’t know about James’s past life. Would he someday trust her enough to confide in her?

As the carriage entered the gate, Annabelle peered out the window and saw a groom leading her father's horse toward the stables.

“That’s Brutus! Papa’s come to see me.” Annabelle held up the package containing her new gown. “I’ll get to show him my new gown
today!”

“
M
r. Walker is waiting
in the drawing room,” Higgins told Helena as he met them at the door. Annabelle shrieked with excitement and raced down the hallway.

“Thank you, Higgins.” Helena hesitated, checking her appearance in a gilded mirror over the hall table. As eager as she was to see James again, she was also
not
eager to see him. What if he had come to reveal his betrothal to the London lady he’d been courting?

Steeling her nerves, she took a deep breath and forced herself to take deliberate steps toward the drawing room. She was no namby-pamby miss. She’d dealt with disappointment before, and she’d manage to do so again if she had to.

She nearly collided with Annabelle, who was waving the package containing her new frock as she dashed out of the room toward the stairs.

“Papa wants to see me in my new gown!” she exclaimed.

“I’ll help you,” Helena said as she turned to follow her. She could feel her heart beating at the knowledge that James was near.

“Fanny or Leah will help her.”

A hand on her arm sent her temperature soaring, and she halted to see James looking down at her with a warm smile. He was looking dapper in black knee breeches with a formal white waistcoat and black jacket that fit him like second skin. Perhaps he was on his way to a social event?

“Miss Lloyd.”

“Mr. Walker.”

They stood looking at each other for a long moment, until Helena recalled that it was her duty to act as hostess in the absence of the Newsomes, and offered him tea.

“Or rather, it’s nearly time for dinner. Perhaps you’d like to join us?”

He smiled and she suddenly knew what it meant when a Regency lady felt like swooning.

“It would be my pleasure, Miss Lloyd. But first, let us sit and chat a bit. I have something important to discuss with you.”

Oh dear. Could it be an announcement of his impending marriage?

She bit her lip. “Of-of course. I’ll just notify Mrs. Morton to set an extra plate. Please make yourself comfortable.”

“Don’t take too long,” he said softly as he clasped her hand in his and kissed it.

Oh. My. Word. This James was irresistible. Surely he would not look at her like
that
if he were planning to marry someone else?

She was still in a near-hypnotic state when she found the housekeeper and advised her of their dinner guest.

She had just left the housekeeper’s workroom when Annabelle’s nursemaid Fanny rushed up to her, a concerned expression on her face.

“Oh Miss Lloyd, I’m so glad you are returned! There’s something strange afoot! Miss Emily and Miss Theo have locked themselves in the schoolroom and won’t let nobody in! And the sounds coming out of there— I’ve never heard the like before!” She crossed herself. “Do ye think they might be conjuring up spirits or somethin’?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Helena disavowed. What
were
those girls up to now?

Mrs. Morton joined them in the hallway, a frown on her face.

“Conjuring up spirits indeed! It’s likely the games they play when their grandmother is here,” she said with a shake of her head. “Her Ladyship brings them toys they are only allowed to play with in her presence. Lady Sarah will be
that
cross when she finds out the girls have them out without permission.”

Helena’s eyebrows drew together. The toys from Lady Pendleton? Oh dear. Somehow she'd forgotten about them. How she wished she could give the woman a piece of her mind! Her anger was increased exponentially by the inconvenience of the interruption. Somehow she'd had the impression that what James wished to speak to her about was something quite personal. A declaration of love? But now… fiddlesticks. This could prove disastrous.

Why had Lady Pendleton been so foolish? For the most part, she seemed to be a very practical, rational woman. But then, there
were
moments. Her Ladyship did occasionally wear gowns made of fabrics that clearly did not exist in the nineteenth century, even though she only wore them at home. Helena could see how it would be tempting to bring back such things, but to give them to
children?

“I’ll see to them,” she said, once more the stern disciplinarian.

“Yes, Miss Lloyd,” said Mrs. Morton, wringing her hands anxiously.

Fanny made no move to follow her, her knuckles turning white as she grasped onto the handle of the door.

“Come dear,” said Mrs. Morton to Fanny. “A spot of tea will calm you down soon enough. You haven’t been here long enough to know there are some things it’s best not to pry into. Sir Henry and Lady Sarah know what they’re about, though. It’s that queer Lady Pendleton that ruffles my feathers.”

No kidding, thought Helena as she dashed toward the stairs. Lady P was a law unto herself. Too bad the Newsomes weren’t around to deal with it themselves.

“Is something wrong?”

James stood in the doorway of the drawing room, eyes narrowed.

“No,” she began, only to be interrupted by a flush-faced Annabelle at the top of the stairs, dressed in her new gown.